In the Next Room
by Woman of Rohan
Summary: A restless young Talbot is tormented by his own thoughts in the middle of the night. One-sided TalbotxMarlowe... now with inclusion of our OC, who likes to make trouble for Talbot.
1. In the Next Room

Another mushy Talbot and Marlowe fic that resulted from a conversation between my best buddy Del and I after listening to too much Neon Trees (this was written just for her for Valentine's Day!). I'm addicted to these two. This is ridiculously puke-tastic and I regret nothing. There will be more!

(ChloexCutter fans I still love you, I just need some time alone with these two for a little while...).

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><p><strong>In the Next Room<strong>

Bare feet pattered against the hardwood floors, resonating throughout the deserted hallways. It was two o'clock in the morning and Talbot should have been sleeping hours ago... but instead his mind wandered and forced him into a state of anxious restlessness.

His own chambers could no longer contain him. He needed somewhere open, somewhere vast... and so he retired to the study, clad only in his sleep clothes. Books had occupied his restless mind for a time, but his focus was slipping. The clock _tick-tocked_ upon the wall, seeming to echo the inner workings of his mind. It was a world of knowledge at his fingertips, any subject he could possibly desire to study...

... but the one burning question in his mind didn't seem to have an answer.

Talbot had read up on the subject, of course... everything from psychology books to Shakespeare. Anyone noteworthy had written about that oh-so-romanticized "l-word." But it didn't make it any less frustrating for the twenty-year-old, and it certainly didn't make his late-night-wanderings any more bearable.

When at last he felt as if he couldn't take the gnawing feeling in his brain any longer, Talbot stepped out of the study and into the foyer. Moonlight bathed the hallways, casting an ethereal glow through the windows. He tip-toed down the hall, not daring to make a sound for fear of being caught by the agents who guarded Marlowe's residence at night.

He passed bookshelves, priceless works of art and suits of armor... what had once been awe-inspiring scenery was now merely the everyday sights of living in a mansion. Despite being desensitized to the lavish lifestyle of an aristocrat, there was still one thing that never failed to amaze him.

His footsteps slowed as he reached his destination, arriving outside of the double-doors leading into Marlowe's chambers. Talbot paused, heart racing and palms sweaty. His conscience told him he _shouldn't _be doing this, it was wrong, it was _filthy_... but the thrill that rushed through his veins and the excitement pumping through his blood told him otherwise.

It was no surprise to Talbot what was occurring behind closed doors at this late hour. Marlowe was with another man. He'd never met most of them, as she reserved their visits for the early hours of the morning. Usually she'd go out, have a drink or two, and bring them back home.

Though she was unaware of his wanderings, Talbot knew all about Marlowe and the men that she bedded. Probably a lot more than he should... but he wouldn't dwell on that.

Sometimes he'd catch entire pieces of conversations. For the most part, it was work-related (Talbot heard enough of that on a daily basis) but other times it was just banter and smalltalk. Talbot liked those conversations best. Because of this, he knew all kinds of facts about his mentor that he wouldn't know otherwise... her favorite places to dine, the perfume she wore, and even her favorite flower, which happened to be the Tiger Lily. The tropical plant seemed to suit her, as its name was a mesh of something both dangerous and beautiful. A fatal attraction, just like her, and perfect in every conceivable way.

As his knowledge of the only woman in his life grew, so did the undeniable rage of jealousy. It was a quiet thing at first, something he could suppress and easily hide. But the more he observed night after night, and the more he heard the sounds of _passion _emitting from the other side of the wall, Talbot found himself consumed with envy.

Daring to press an ear to Marlowe's door on this particular morning, Talbot began to listen intently. He could hear Marlowe's laughter, high and pleasant, from the other side of the door... followed by a masculine chuckle. Talbot's hands unintentionally balled into fists. What made _him _so special? He didn't know her like he did... didn't watch out for her, didn't follow orders perfectly and without question. For the better half of three years, he'd done everything Marlowe had ever asked. Was it so bad to want something in return?

When his palms came to rest upon the smooth wooden door, pressing a hip against it for support, he was remarkably surprised when he suddenly found himself falling forward, face first, as he came toppling through the doorway. He was so intent on his spy game, he'd completely failed to notice that the door hadn't been fully shut.

From his position on his hands and knees, Talbot sat slack-jawed and wide-eyed at the suggestive scene before him. Marlowe was in the arms of a strange yet handsome man, straddling him as they sat upon the foot of her bed. Her hair was mussed up and her blouse half-undone...and both of them were looking straight at him. The man looked confused, his dark eyes fixed upon Talbot, while Marlowe's features transformed from annoyance to amusement as she regarded him.

The most awkward seconds of Talbot's life ticked by with remarkable slowness, as his pulse pounded in his ears. He blinked a few times, his body seemingly frozen in place. He'd have had more than enough time to make a run for it... but he couldn't will himself to do it, his eyes glued to the couple. God, he was in _so much trouble_.

Marlowe cleared her throat, patting her visitor on the chest and toying with the lapels of his jacket. "Can you excuse us for a moment please, Clive?"

"Of course," the man smiled, and gave her some space.

As she walked over to him with a pitying expression, Talbot felt his stomach flipping.

"Get up."

When he hesitated, she hefted him upwards by his elbow and tugged him out of the room. Talbot made sure to throw "Clive" a death glare over his shoulder, to which the man merely rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his blonde hair.

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" Marlowe asked, her expression stern. Her grip on his arm tightened, and Talbot winced.

"I needed something," Talbot blurted. His words didn't even seem to register before he said them.

"What could you possibly need at this late hour?"

Oh God, now _that _was a loaded question. Little did Marlowe know, his true answer was standing right before him. If only he had the gall to say such a thing... to openly admit that he had wandered out of his room at 2am because he couldn't stop thinking about her... that it was driving him positively _crazy _if he couldn't see her, or hear her, or catch the briefest of glimpses until morning. But that would only serve to make things complicated... and Talbot couldn't risk that. So instead he said: "I couldn't sleep."

The words were muttered as he gave a shrug while Marlowe shook her head.

"What have I told you about mumbling? Speak more clearly."

Talbot threw a glance through the open door, and saw that Clive was still watching the scene unfold before him. Meanwhile, Marlowe's grasp on his arm was feeling like a boa constrictor's grip. Whether intentional or not, he wasn't sure.

"Let go," he snapped, pulling away from her. "You're embarrassing me."

"Oh, am I? Hah! You don't know the meaning of the word. Did you ever stop to think that maybe by this improper behavior, you're the one embarrassing _me_?"

Talbot's face felt hot. He hadn't considered that and so he remained silent rather than admitting it. He'd never want to do anything to embarrass her or make her angered with him. When Talbot crossed his arms moodily, still glancing over towards Marlowe's gentleman caller, she gave a haughty little laugh.

"You see my friend over there?" she asked, nodding her head towards him. "He's very important to me, and I've told him only the nicest of things about you."

Talbot was nearly stunned into silence as he allowed himself to look into her clear, no, _crystalline _green eyes. She actually... talked about him?

"You... have?"

He scratched idly at the back of his head.

"Mhmm," Marlowe nodded. "So, I think it's best that you don't make a scene, or else I can show you true embarrassment. Wouldn't want to spoil your perfect little reputation, now would we?"

Talbot certainly couldn't argue with that. He cast his gaze downward, feeling flustered and awkward.

"No, Marlowe."

"Good. We can't risk that with such a promising future, after all."

Marlowe stepped in close to him, cupping his chin in her palm and tipping it upwards so that he was looking her in the eye again. With her face mere inches from his own, he could feel her breath against his face. She smelled intoxicating, like some kind of wild flower, and Talbot couldn't help but fidget under her steely gaze. "Now, get back to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

With that, she let him go and he paced awkwardly down the hallway and back towards his own room. He threw a glance over his shoulder to see her return to her chambers, this time shutting the doors firmly behind her.

Talbot couldn't help but run his index finger along his chin, where Marlowe's palm had lingered just moments before. He could still feel her touch, so gentle and pleasant against his skin. He hoped that the memories would be able to sustain him until the morning.

Though his plans didn't quite pan out the way he'd have liked them to, and Marlowe had found out about his eavesdropping... he considered the encounter a victory. He was important enough for her to bring him up in conversation... so who was to say that he wouldn't be important enough to earn a kiss, a hug, or... perhaps something more one fine day?

There was always room for dreams. As Talbot hopped into bed, staring at the ceiling with a smirk upon his features...he hoped that he'd dream of her, his dangerously beautiful muse. If he had to wait an eternity to be hand and hand with her, then he'd willingly endure it. She was worth every second.

But next time... just to push his luck, he'd bring tiger lilies.


	2. Midnight Snack

**This is just another one-shot related to this fic that I decided to write in order to practice with our OC, Clive Edwards... professional douchebag, self-proclaimed ladies man, and one of Marlowe's many lovers before she got together with Talbot. He sure gives Talbot a hard time... and is the main antagonist of a longer fic I've been working on. I hope you enjoy our edition to Tallowe Land.  
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><p><strong>Midnight Snack <strong>

Talbot rubbed at his dry eyes, realizing that he'd been reading the same paragraph of his book several times in a row. It was that time of night where his cognitive functions began to slow and his vision became a bit unfocused. Marking his place with a tassel,Talbot closed the leather bound book with a _thud _and stood, stretching out his aching limps. The muscles in his shoulders were tight from his hunched up position in his armchair. Though it was plush, it couldn't save him from the discomfort that accompanied hours of endless reading and very little movement...

His stomach gave an unexpected growl, which seemed unusually audible in the stark silence of the library. Talbot threw a quick glance at the grandfather clock resting against the far wall. It was nearly 3am.

On most nights, Talbot would have merely crawled back into bed and attempted to sleep off his sudden bout of hunger, but he'd skipped dinner in favor of catching up on some research. Though he wasn't typically allowed to visit the kitchen after hours, he assumed that the servants, or Marlowe, wouldn't care... what they didn't know couldn't harm them, after all.

Stepping into his slippers, Talbot crossed the room and soundlessly exited the library, making his way towards the main staircase that lead into the foyer. Down the stairs and through the hallway, the temperature dropped noticeably. Wearing only a pair of lounge pants and a tank top, goose bumps were sending shivers down his back. As he shifted his book against the crook of his elbow, he rubbed at his bare arms to fend against the autumn chill. He made a note to bring his robe the next time he wandered through the Manor late at night. Talbot turned the corner, surprised to see that the kitchen lights had been left on.

As he entered the lavishly decorated room, he wondered if perhaps the maids had been cleaning on their nightly shift, and so he was a bit startled to see the hulking figure of a blonde man standing a few feet away from him, with his back turned and a glass in hand. Talbot cleared his throat, demanding the man's attention as he placed his book upon the nearest counter. His broad shoulders turned, sluggish yet casual, and a wry smile was immediately upon his face.

Clive Edwards, as Talbot had learned his full name only recently, was one of Marlowe's gentleman callers. He'd met him only once, an encounter he'd much rather forget entirely, and had seen him in passing on more than a few occasions. From an outsider's perspective, Clive showed up just as often as Marlowe's other business associates. Nothing unusual, or so it seemed... the only difference were the noises emitting from his employer's chambers in the early morning hours. He felt ill at the thought.

On this particular morning, Mr. Edwards was looking rather laid-back, favoring a half-unbuttoned dress shirt and slacks over his full suit. His tie had been removed and his blonde, coiffed hair was uncharacteristically mussed. Talbot had a few guesses as to what had occurred before their current meeting. At least this time, he hadn't been around to hear it for himself.

"Hey, kiddo! Long time no see." Clive was grinning in a stupid sort of way as the deep red liquid sloshed around in his sparkling glass. He leaned his weight with his back against the counter and glanced at his wristwatch, squinting before he arched a single eyebrow. "Say, isn't it a little past your bedtime?"

His words were slurred, the faintest signs of inebriation to his otherwise whimsical tone. Without missing a beat, Talbot replied moodily:

"Isn't it a bit late to be consuming Marlowe's personal supply of alcohol?"

He wasn't a child, and didn't appreciate being treated like one. Clive's full lips twisted into a lopsided smile, only slightly less sincere than before.

"Geesh, what are you, guard dog of the kitchen? It's not as if I didn't have permission. Katherine trusts me enough to roam around as I please. "There was a brief and somewhat dramatic pause as Clive took a moment to look him over. "Can you say the same?"

Talbot couldn't help but bristle at the fact that he referred to Marlowe so casually. He'd been under her wing for years, and he wouldn't dream of calling her by her given name. Perhaps ignoring the man was a preferable tactic. He'd just grab a snack and head back to his room... in and out. Marlowe absolutely hated when he brought food back to his bedroom, but in order to avoid speaking to one of her "associates", he'd make an exception.

Clive was tapping his fingers against his glass, directing his gaze from Talbot to his book upon the counter.

"Readin' anything good?"

Talbot was rolling his eyes at the feeble attempt at conversation after such an awkward comment. He doubted Clive had ever read an entire book in his lifetime. Unless, perhaps, pornography counted.

"Why should that concern you?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"What, I can't get to know Katherine's little golden boy a bit better? Well, excuse me for being amicable."

At that, Talbot scoffed. He wondered if he truly knew the meaning of the word. Again, doubtful... and again, he winced at the use of Marlowe's first name. He wondered if he was doing it on purpose in order to get a reaction out of him.

"I'm sure she's told you enough about me," he said, attempting to skirt the subject entirely and just be on his way. Talbot didn't particularly enjoy talking about himself, especially not to the likes of Mr. Edwards... and at three in the bloody morning, no less. It made him uneasy.

"Actually," Clive shrugged his broad shoulders. "She hasn't."

Brow furrowed, Talbot waited for an explanation. Somehow, he was sure that his expression was confused enough without any kind of verbal reply.

"She barely even mentions you," Clive continued, burying his free hand in the pocket of his trousers. "I mean, what, I've known Katherine for several months now. And the night you were caught red-handed was the first I'd heard of you. It's almost as if she doesn't want anyone to know about you."

There was an unwelcome sinking feeling in Talbot's stomach, like a pile of rocks settling there. Curse his stomach. Suddenly, he was wishing he'd just retired to his chambers and saved himself the whole ordeal. Though he tried to deny it, to rationalize it in his logical mind, Talbot was reeling at a dizzying pace... as if every bit of truth he'd ever been told was suddenly a searing white lie. It burnt hot like a brand, and hurt just as badly. He didn't want to believe what he was hearing. Surely there must be some mistake...

The only thing he could do was deflect and attempt to defend himself.

"Is that so? Well, perhaps it's for a good reason."

After all, secrets could be good things, right?

"Could be," Clive said, taking another contemplative sip of his wine. Talbot watched as his prominent Adam's apple moved as he swallowed... and he found himself absentmindedly bringing a hand to his own throat. "But you like her, don't you?"

Casting his gaze towards the sparkling marble floor, Talbot frowned as he pursed his lips at the rhetorical question. The clock_ tick-tocking_ on the wall seemed to be keeping rhythm with Talbot's pounding heart. Of course, his affections for Marlowe should have been obvious by now. He couldn't deny that he hadn't necessarily made the best impression upon first meeting Mr. Edwards. It was a fatal piece of information, one that he hoped would never be used against him.

He could only pray that the lull in their conversation was enough for Clive to simply shut up and be on his way, to forget about the entire exchange, but he should have known better.

"It just seems natural for me," Clive continued, "you know, since I've been around the block once or twice, that when somebody appreciates someone, they'd at least have the common courtesy to mention them once in a while."

Talbot crossed his arms over his chest, a defiant quality to his tone as he narrowed his eyes in what he hoped was an intimidating stance. He couldn't help but feel a bit inferior standing only a couple of feet from Mr. Edwards' massive, muscular frame.

"Are you saying I'm unimportant?"

"Hey, hey... don't jump the gun here, kiddo. I didn't say that. I'm just saying that facts are facts. You've been in cahoots with Marlowe... how long again?"

"Far longer than you have," Talbot retorted.

"Wow. Touchy, are we?" Clive said, with a sympathetic shake of his head, though he was still smirking. "Regardless... that doesn't seem a little odd to you?"

Talbot didn't utter a sound as he stared at Clive, jaw clenched. He honestly hadn't considered it. His mind flashed back to the first time he'd met him all those months ago. Marlowe's words were still so vivid in his mind:

_"You see my friend over there? He's very important to me, and I've told him only the nicest of things about you."_

_"You... have?"_

_"Mhmm. So, I think it's best that you don't make a scene... Wouldn't want to spoil your perfect little reputation, now would we?"_

_"No, Marlowe."_

_"Good. We can't risk that with such a promising future, after all."_

He could still feel the softness of her fingertips as she'd tipped his chin and sent him on his way, gazing into his eyes and leaving the scent of her intoxicating tropical perfume lingering in her wake. He'd been so ecstatic, so content that he'd made a good enough impression... good enough to warrant her mentioning him to her clients. He felt worthy, he felt secure... he felt like someone with a future, a future beside Marlowe. He had a chance. A strong, fighting chance. But now, the fact that Marlowe had lied to his face so effortlessly made it feel as if the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. If he couldn't trust her word, then who could he trust?

Until now, he'd never second guessed her. What reason had Marlowe ever given him to doubt her? She had taken him in, trained him, given him a home. He was always under the impression that _he _was indebted to _her_... striving to make the best possible impression at all times in his constant quest for Marlowe's approval. The fact that she never openly appreciated him had never even crossed his mind. But now that he thought of it, she never had... and he was left wanting something that he hadn't even realized was missing.

She had believed in him, and until the current moment, Talbot felt that fact alone was enough. Was it terrible of him to want more? Was he an awful person because he secretly longed for her to talk about him, to be proud of him and openly show it? To even mention him once in a while or show her thanks? In a matter of minutes, Talbot's entire perspective was changed. He wasn't sure what he desired any more, and that thought alone was incredibly depressing.

Talbot's next instinct was to place the blame on Mr. Edwards, who was still casually sipping at his nearly-empty wine glass, but something about the man was disturbingly nonchalant in the sincerest of ways. Somehow, he couldn't help but believe that he was being honest and truthful. To him, Talbot was a nobody. He had no reason to be insincere.

With a final tip of his glass as Talbot continued to stare in a state of bone-deep numbness, Mr. Edwards finished his drink and casually pushed away from the counter, moving a few feet forward to pat Talbot on the shoulder. His entire body immediately stiffened at the unwelcome contact.

"Hey, whatever you do, just keep your chin up, Sparky," Clive said genially, as he looked Talbot directly in the eye and squeezed his shoulder. "Maybe one day she'll look down and notice you curled up at her feet when you bring in the big kill."

Before Talbot could utter a reply, still left quite speechless, Clive had looked down and noticed the wine glass still in his hands. With a shrug and a look of feigned embarrassment, he handed it to Talbot. He blinked a couple of times before he realized that Mr. Edwards was handing him the dirtied glass. With seemingly no other choice, he relieved him of it.

"You probably know where this goes better than I do. Seeing as you live here and all, and I'm just a guest."

"... right."

"Sayonara, kiddo."

With a wink and a ruffling of Talbot's already-unkempt hair, Clive had exited the kitchen, already jovially on his way down the hallway and towards the main foyer. When Clive was out of earshot, Talbot mumbled under his breath, probably sounding more like a growl as he expressed his annoyance and frustration. He reluctantly placed the glass in the sink, half-tempted to throw it on the ground and watch as it shattered, but he refrained. Brooding in his dark thoughts, Talbot retrieved his book before switching off the light.

Not about to forget what he'd came for, Talbot snatched an apple from a fruit bowl upon the counter. He'd save it for later, as he was no longer hungry. As he sulked back to his chambers, shoulders slumped and head spinning, for the first time in a long time, Talbot was left feeling as if he'd bitten off more than he could chew.


End file.
